Who We Are
by koko-write
Summary: Ludwig was arrested in an ambush, almost executed, and escaped a dragon attack. Now he's also the Dragonborn and must save the world from Alduin. Feliciano is an apprentice to the Temple of Kynareth who wishes to find what he's missing. After a chance meeting, they begin their journey to stop Alduin and find the answers they've sought, though they may not like what they find.
1. Prologue

Darkness.

It surrounded him, made his shoulders and arms stiff and his neck ache. It was when thinking of this ache he suddenly realized the pounding in his skull, reverberating off its interior walls.

He felt an intense cotton-like pressure in his ears, and through it heard the muffled sounds of what he believed to be bits of conversation.

It took effort to slowly crack open his heavy eyes, the lids wanting to stay glued together, but he managed to break the darkness. After a moment of blinding light, he saw the figures of sitting men through the thin sliver cut through the black. He tried speaking, but choked and began coughing, the rough contractions making his esophagus feel raw.

The figures seemed to shift to look at him, and he thought one of them may have said something, but the darkness took over again before he could make the words out through the cotton.

* * *

Voices; deep and low.

He could hear them conversing, just beyond his dreamless rest; dragging him back to the world of consciousness.

He slowly opened his eyes, little slivers first and then full blinks. He forced them to stay open, willed them not to seal shut again. He gave a sighing groan of effort, and tried to move his arms to stretch them, only to find an un-budging force of resistance. He looked down.

His hands were bound at the wrists by thick rope.

"Hey, you," a voice said. "You're finally awake." He turned toward the voice, let his eyes focus. In front of him sat a man with long, filthy blonde hair matted to his dirt-covered face, wearing the ever-familiar quilted leather and chain mail armor, a blue cloth draped across his chest and over his shoulders; a Stormcloak, rebel to the Imperial army.

He saw that the man wore similar bindings to his own.

"You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." the Stormcloak continued in his thick Nordic accent.

He stayed silent. They passed through snow-covered mountains and forest, following a winding path of stone.

"Damn you Stormcloaks," another man spoke to the right of him. The other man wore stained rags and no shoes. His face was even more caked with dirt than the previous man. "Skyrim was fine until you came along," the man scowled. "Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and have been halfway to Hammerfell. You there…"

The man turned to him. "You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," the Stormcloak spoke with a resigned tone.

"Shut up back there!" someone yelled from the front; an Imperial soldier.

He was suddenly struck with the realization that he was stuck in the back of a wooden prison carriage, being carted away to Talos knows where. He felt his pulse quicken, and his hands became clammy with hot sweat.

"And what's wrong with him, huh?" the horse thief asked with disdain, looking to another man who sat across from him. The man wore much nicer clothes than the other two; clothes of a noble status. His hands were bound like the others, too, and his clothing was torn and stained with blood and dirt. His mouth was gagged.

"Watch your tongue," the Stormcloak scolded. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

Ulfric Stormcloak. The leader of the Stormcloak rebels. If he remembered correctly, he had killed the previous High King of Skyrim, using some strange power. He did not remember much more detail about the incident.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion, " the horse thief said in astonishment, then fear. "But if they've captured you… Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

He didn't want to think about that.

"I don't know where we're going," the Stormcloak replied, "but Sovengarde awaits."

"No," the horse thief's voice shook, "this can't be happening. This isn't happening."

They were nearing the gates of a village, following another cart in front of them. They were led by more Imperial soldiers.

"Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?" the Stormcloak asked the thief, and the thief looked at him in annoyed puzzlement.

"Why do you care?"

They passed homes and villagers who had gathered along the sides of the stone path to watch them pass.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

The horse thief was silent for a moment, then said, "Rorikstead… I'm from Rorikstead."

"General Tullius, sir!" an Imperial voice greeted, and the four men looked back to the front. He recognized a man as an Imperial general. "The headsman is waiting!"

The headsman. He didn't want to think about the context of that statement.

"Good," the general- Tullius- said. "Let's get this over with." He pulled out of formation from the front of the line on horseback, moving over to a few Thalmor on the sidelines.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh," the horse thief prayed. "Divines, please help me."

"Look at him, General Tullius, the Military Governor," the Stormcloak glowered. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

The Stormcloak paused.

"This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with the juniper berries mixed in." The Stormcloak's voice held a tone of melancholy. "Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

"Who are they, Daddy?" a small boy from the crowd asked, watching them pass. "Where are they going?"

The father began to usher the boy inside. "You need to go inside, little cub."

"Why?" the child insisted. "I want to watch the soldiers."

"Inside the house, now." The father's tone was firm, and the boy gave in.

"Yes, papa." The child disappeared into the house.

"Whoa!" the driver shouted, pulling on the rains.

The carriages stopped.

"Get these prisoners out of the carts," the commanding officer ordered. "Move!"

"Why are we stopping?" the horse thief asked with panic.

"What do you think?" the Stormcloak asked, as if the man was dumb. "End of the line. Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

The Imperials unloaded them off the carts and grouped them together before a commanding officer and a soldier with a quill and a piece of parchment.

"No!" the thief shouted, his panic rising. "Wait! We're not rebels!"

"Face your death with some courage, thief," the Stormcloak chided him for his cowardice.

"You've got to tell them!" the thief cried. "We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time," the commanding officer spoke, ignoring the thief's cries.

"Empire loves their damn lists," the Stormcloak muttered.

The soldier began calling off names. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm."

Ulfric stepped forward, meeting Tullius's gaze with his own unwaveringly impassive one. He walked past and stopped before the block.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!" the Stormcloak shouted to his leader.

The soldier continued. "Ralof of Riverwood."

As Ralof, the Stormcloak soldier, passed to join Ulfric, he and the soldier with the list shared a look of familiarity, before both looking away.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No, I'm not a rebel. You can't do this!" the thief- Lokir- yelled. He began to sprint past the soldier and down the path, sending the rest of the Imperials into a commotion.

"Halt!" the commanding officer yelled, but Lokir continued his sprint without looking back.

"You're not going to kill me!"

"Archers!" the commanding officer commanded, and a few Imperial soldiers pulled out their bows, aimed for Lokir, and fired. He was down in seconds, and did not move again.

The commanding officer turned back to the crowd of prisoners as the archers replaced their bows. She gave them a pointed look. "Anyone else feel like running?"

There was a long moment of silence as no one spoke up. They would face their death with pride.

She looked to the soldier with the list and gave a curt nod. The soldier looked back down to the parchment, then looked back up again, his brows furrowed.

"Wait. You there." The soldier motioned to him, the only one left from that cart. "Step forward."

He was still for a moment, his body refusing to move. He forced his feet to shift towards the soldier, then slowly walk, until he was within a few feet of the man.

"Who," the soldier asked, "are you?"

He swallowed the strangling lump of panicky fear down, straightened his back, and squared his shoulders. If he would die, it would be with dignity.

He spoke with a blank, stony face and a prideful tone.

"Ludwig Beilschmidt."


	2. Execution

Ludwig was silent as the soldier looked back down to the list, his brows furrowing deeper. He turned to the commanding officer.

"Captain. What should we do? He's not on the list."

She held a look of indifference. "Forget the list. He goes to the block," she stated curtly. The soldier gave her a look of uncertainty, but did not remark on her decision.

"By your orders, Captain. Follow the Captain, prisoner." Ludwig felt the lump return as he moved forward. The soldier put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him as he leaned in and quietly spoke in his ear.

"You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman. I'm sorry. At least you'll die here, in your homeland." The soldier released Ludwig's shoulder and moved away.

He didn't know how to respond to that.

He continued following the commanding officer the rest of the way to the small group, and watched as General Tullius approached Ulfric.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," he began. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like The Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

Ulfric merely replied with a muffled grunt.

"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos," he continued, "and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."

As one of the Stormcloaks was directed to the executioner's block, a distant roar-like noise cut across the silence, gaining the attention of the crowd. Ludwig wasn't sure why, but it made him uneasy, and he shifted uncomfortably as his heart pounded restlessly in his ears. He noticed Ulfric watching him, and could feel the intensity of his stare.

He didn't dare meet eyes with him.

The soldier whom had read off the lists looked up to the sky, searching for a sign of the bellow's source. "What was that?"

"It's nothing," Tullius said curtly, seemingly annoyed. "Carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius," the commanding officer said dutifully, then turned to a nearby priestess. "Give them their last rites."

Ulfric looked back to the front.

The priestess walked up to the front of the block and raised her arms, beginning her prayers for the prisoners. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for are the salt of Nirn, our beloved-"

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with," one of the Stormcloaks growled and made his way to the block.

She shot him an irritated glare. "As you wish," she said crossly, and stepped back.

"Come on," the Stormcloak snapped at the executioner, "I haven't got all morning." The commanding officer put a hand on the Stormcloak's back and shoved him to his knees, then used the heel of her foot to force him to the ground, his neck pressed to the block.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials," he said. "Can you say the same?" The executioner raised the heavy axe over his head, and swung it down. There was a collective sharp intake of breath as his head fell into a wooden crate, and the commanding officer kicked his dead body aside. Ludwig felt his blood run cold.

"You Imperial bastards!" a female Sormcloak cried in fury. Ludwig pitied them, having to watch the heads of their brothers and sisters in arms roll in such a crude manner.

A few of the villagers cheered.

"Death to the stormcloaks!" a woman hollered, and Ludwig could see Ralof look to the ground from the corner of his eye, his jaw set and Adam's apple bobbing a couple times. Ludwig looked the other way.

"As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof said quietly.

"Next, the Nord in rags!" the commanding officer ordered, and Ludwig felt his heart leap to his throat.

Another roar howled again, closer this time. The soldier with the list seemed even more unsettled, and Ludwig felt his stomach twist.

"There it is again. Did you hear that?" the soldier asked, but the commanding officer ignored him.

"I said, next prisoner!"

It was his turn, now.

Why was he here? How did it come to this, he wondered. For what crime was he to be executed for? All he wished was to find his brother, nothing more.

His brother, whom had left home and disappeared; whom he swore to his father he would find before he left home himself.

He could not die here, not like this. Not when he was so close.

His brother was waiting.

 _Please,_ he prayed to all Eight Divines, _not now. I can't die yet._

"To the block, prisoner," the soldier said to him sympathetically. "Nice and easy."

He was led over by an Imperial's grip on his forearm. He could feel his knees turning to jelly as he knelt in front of the stone block, the dead Stormcloak's body not even having been bothered to be moved. The force of a shoving foot was applied to his back, and he felt the freezing stone against his neck, a strange contrast to the still hot blood staining it. He was face to face with the decapitated head in the crate, the stench of death already wafting to his nose.

The soldier's eyes were still open.

Ludwig turned his head away.

He saw the executioner, his face hidden by a black leather mask. He saw something move in in the sky in his peripheral vision, momentarily assuming it to be a large bird or falcon as the headsman began to raise the axe over his head.

Just as he began to swing it down, and Ludwig was going to shut his eyes tight, he heard Tullius shout in fear as a giant figure dropped heavily atop the tower behind the headsman.

" _What in Oblivion is that?!"_

"Sentries!" the commanding officer called, "What do you see?!"

"It's in the clouds!" Ludwig could hear someone shout, but he stared at the figure in disbelief as the headsman fell forward with an unheard grunt.

This wasn't happening. This was impossible, a thing only ever mentions in fairytales and myths.

Someone screamed.

" _Dragon!"_


	3. Escape: Run

_And the Scrolls have foretold of black wings in the cold, That when brothers wage war come unfurled! Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound, With a hunger to swallow the world!_

* * *

Ludwig was frozen. He stared and watched in horror as the creature reared it's head back and thrust it back forward with a blood-curdling screech, sending everyone left standing reeling backwards.

The clouds behind it gathered and swirled, turning a dark intimidating grey. It shouted again, and Ludwig found himself being dragged to his feet, the fear-fueled adrenaline pumping energy back into his veins.

He steadied himself on his feet, and looked up. Before him stood Ralof, pulling him up.

"Hey, kinsman. Get up!" he shouted over the screams of the crowd and the dragon's roaring. "Come on, the gods won't give us another chance! This way!"

Ludwig stumbled the first few steps, but managed to follow him into another tower. As he ran through the entrance, Ralof slammed it shut, locking it behind him.

On the stone floor was one of the Stormcloak prisoners, tending to the female soldier that had cursed the Imperials before. Her leg was bleeding profusely, even with the now blood-soaked cloth pressed firmly against the wound. Beside her lay another unconscious Stormcloak, his breathing shallow and ragged.

Ludwig knelt down to her, examining her leg. "Will they be alright?" he asked, ignoring the raw pain in his throat.

"They're hurt, but they'll live. Another second out there with the dragon, and they'd both be dead…" The soldier grimaced and looked down to the injured.

Ralof looked to Ulfric, who was standing by the keep entrance removing his gag from his mouth and spitting at the ground.

"Jarl Ulfric! What was that thing? Could the legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn down villages," the Jarl grumbled, his voice rough and scratchy from being gagged for such an extended period of time. "We need to move, now!"

"Up through the tower," Ralof ordered to the group. "Let's go!"

The standing Stormcloak ushered Ludwig to follow Ralof up the tower staircase. He hesitated, but complied after a short moment and jogged to catch up with him.

A Stormcloak was already up on the first landing, throwing pieces of collapsed stone out of the way.

"We just need to move some of these rocks to clear the way-"

"Yor… Toor… Shul!"

The wall abruptly burst in on itself, taking the Stormcloak with it and crushing him in the rubble. Ludwig and Ralof immediately receded back down a few steps, stumbling and having to lean against the intact wall for balance.

The dragon's head was visible through the large hole, and the two men crouched down so that it wouldn't detect them. At this close of a distance, the creature was even more terrifying than before, and Ludwig felt as if he were to vomit then and there.

It only took a few seconds for the dragon to breath fire through the new opening and take off again, searching for more prey to terrorize.

Ralof swore, then pointed through the immense hole left behind at a ruined, burning building and spoke to Ludwig. "See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going!"

Ludwig began to protest, but Ralof shoved him forward up the a few steps. "Go! We'll follow when we can!"

Ludwig watched as he descended the stairs, then decided that he would put his faith into these men. He backed up a few paces, counted down from three, and rushed forward.

The sensation of falling as wind whipped around him and smacked his face made him feel almost weightless, as if he were flying. When he landed, the force of the shock from the hard contact between his feet and the wooden floor shot immense pain up Ludwig's legs, causing his knees to buckle and he collapsed to the floor. It took much effort for him to stand on both feet and rush to an opening in the floor, where he fell another, shorter, distance.

He ignored the throbbing in his legs as he ran outside to see the soldier with the list with an elder villager and the father of the boy whom had been ushered inside. Both the soldier and the elder had their weapons drawn, and the boy appeared to be frozen in fear as he watched the dragon destroy his home.

"Haming," the soldier yelled, "you need to get over here! Now!"

The boy seemed to find his senses and ran back to them just as the dragon landed a nearly a mere hundred feet, making him stumble and fall. Ludwig felt a moment of panic as the boy scrambled to his feet and sprinted to the soldier and his father.

The dragon bellowed fire at the boy just as turned off the stone path, the deathly heat missing him by inches.

The father stumbled and fell, caught in the blast.

The soldier screamed his name. "Gods... Everyone, get back!"

 _Yol... Toor... Shul!_

The three hid behind the rubble of a fallen house, protected from the dragon's flaming breath. Ludwig joined them.

"Still alive, prisoner?" The soldier asked, giving him a quick glance. "Stay with me if you want to stay that way. Gunnar," he turned to the elder, "take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join their defense."

The elder nodded. "Gods guide you, Hadvar." With that, the soldier- Hadvar, Ludwig now knew- dashed off, Ludwig in tow. They ran down the path where the dragon previously stood, passing the father's dead corpse, and through a small alley between the village wall and a house.

The dragon dropped down on top of the wall from the sky, blowing another attack in its strange tongue. The two men crouched down against the wall to hide from the beast. Once it passed, they started once more, through the ruins of burning cottages and the bodies of Imperials, villagers, and Stormcloaks alike.

While running, Ludwig tripped and ran his shoulder into a burning log, sending him reeling back with a cry of pain. After giving himself a second of pause before dashing after Hadvar again, trying to think of anything but the burning pain pulsing through his shoulder and arm.

"It's you and me prisoner. Stay close!" Hadvar shouted back as they ran past injured soldiers and villagers. Everything was in ruin and chaos, and Ludwig found himself running purely on adrenaline and fear.

As they approached the entrance to another keep, Ralof appeared running from beyond the rubble of the side.

They all stood there for a moment, Ralof and Hadvar staring each other down.

"Ralof!" Hadvar shouted. "You damned traitor. Out of my way!"

"We're escaping, Hadvar," Ralof said cooly. "You're not stopping us this time."

Hadvar glared daggers at him. "Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde."

Ralof looked over to Ludwig, beginning to run towards his direction. "You! Come on, into the keep!"

Hadvar ran towards the front of the keep, while Ralof grabbed Ludwig's wrist and led him around the back to another door. Ralof began working on the locks as he spoke. "I can cut you loose inside!"

The dragon flew by and breathed fire where they were all previously standing just moments ago, the power of its strong wings causing Ludwig to stumble.

Ralof made a sound of approval as the lock gave, and the door swung open. As he was ushered inside, Ludwig could have sworn he had heard someone speak, and turned around to look outside.

 _Hin sil fen nahkip bahloki._

The door slammed shut, and the screaming was replaced by silence.


End file.
